


Memories of You (Still Stand Strong)

by A_Kid_Named_Hiro



Series: MadaTobi Week [3]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Kid_Named_Hiro/pseuds/A_Kid_Named_Hiro
Summary: Prompt:Alternate universe(fromMadaTobi Week 2018).





	Memories of You (Still Stand Strong)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Alternate universe_ (from **[MadaTobi Week 2018](https://madatobiweek.tumblr.com/post/174594542851/madatobi-week-2018-prompts)** ).

He cannot feel his thoughts.

There is a fog upon his mind, heavy, unsettling. A voice upon the edge of his memory. A name within the prison of his throat.

He can feel the storm. The darkness. In it, he stumbles. Rain lashes his face, merciless, stinging. Cold, seeping into his uniform, his jackboots, his bones.

Thunder overhead. Madara looks up and beholds none but dark sky and bitter rain. He closes his eyes. Wet streaks his cheeks. He does not cry. It is nothing but the rain, drenching, wailing, _raging._

He looks to the road. Highway dashes before him. Madara keenly feels the endlessness of them. Mocking him. They stretch for miles and miles, white amid dark, so many they almost blur into a single line.

The road is as long as it is empty. Madara knows that no one would find him here.

He is the Varia's Rain. How fitting, he thinks, that he should die in it.

His feet are numb, and still he walks. Numb, like his mind, like his lips, like his right hand that's pressed against his stomach. Flash of lightning across the sky. Madara lifts his hand to his face. Sees red. Upon the white of his glove, the ring on his middle finger.

He hears the soles of his boots scraping the asphalt. His breaths, harsh, desperate. He is surprised he can breathe at all.

It scares him, this… _unfeelingness._ He cannot feel his thoughts like he cannot feel his feet like he cannot feel the ache in his stump. Nothing but dead space where his left arm and his sword used to be.

His stump does not ache because there is no one to ache for anymore.

He walks. His feet catch upon themselves and he finds himself falling. There is nothing, and then there is pain, lancing through his face, his body, white-hot and blade-sharp. He can barely move.

Madara lies there, scraped cheek pressed to cold, wet asphalt. Rain continues to pummel him. Red upon the ground. Loneliness within his bones.

Red. Like his wound, bleeding out. Like his ring. Like the crimson lakes of _his_ eyes, burning, always burning.

Madara used to think that flame unquenchable. His Boss, indestructible.

He was wrong.

He closes his eyes. His breath, a shaky exhalation. Agony within his heart. Wet, within his eyes, upon his face.

 _Tobirama,_ he thinks.

"Tobirama," he says, and _he_ is there.

He feels him, as palpably as he feels the biting cold. Madara opens his eyes and beholds Tobirama, standing over him like a shadow. The rain does not touch him.

He is there, in his white shirt, his loosely knotted tie, his jacket that he always wears like a cape. His belt, red, like his eyes, like the blood that sighs out of Madara's body, pools of crimson upon the highway.

Tobirama's dark pants. The laces of his boots. Those ridiculous beads and feathers in his hair. Scar upon his left cheek. A sight so familiar, so craved, Madara can't help but bark a laugh that sounds so much like a broken sob.

Tobirama looks at him. Eyes blazing like fire — unquenched — within the dark. He offers Madara his hand. "Let's go home."

Madara laughs again. It is a broken thing, made whole. "I _am_ home."


End file.
